


Too Many Dicks, Not Enough Richards

by haygahr



Series: OPERATION: WASP TRAP [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, M/M, schrodinger's crackfic, you never know until you write it (and accidentally spawn an entire series)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:53:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24220873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haygahr/pseuds/haygahr
Summary: Roy grabbed the phone and turned the brightness down, and then back up, and held it away from himself until his eyes would focus. He turned to Ed. “That’s an anus.”
Relationships: Edward Elric/Roy Mustang
Series: OPERATION: WASP TRAP [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1748257
Comments: 1
Kudos: 30





	Too Many Dicks, Not Enough Richards

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NaoNazo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaoNazo/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Madame Christmas’ Palace of Pleasures: Psychiatric Counseling Division](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23571583) by [jinlinli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jinlinli/pseuds/jinlinli), [silentwalrus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentwalrus/pseuds/silentwalrus). 



> THANK YOU to Naonazo and ang3lba3 for cheerleading me through this, LadyMerlin for the beta (someone teach me to html and i'll link em).
> 
> What can I say? I joined a server. People were funny. Monkey see monkey write. 
> 
> Stand braced for further installments.

“Edward.” Roy winced and covered his eyes with a hand. “I have to be up in five hours. Please, at least turn your brightness down.”

“No, seriously, look at this asshole!”

By now, Roy had learned that the most efficient way out was usually through, so he said a prayer for his melatonin and squinted at the screen. His eyes watered, and the brown blur on the screen refused to cohere. “Have you never heard of Night Shift? God this is worse than staring into a strobe light.”

“I know, it’s horrible. I almost didn’t recognize him at first, but you know, then I got to this pic, and I was like ‘Oh, Brad! I remember you!’ He changed his name to Tad on here, but I know it’s him.” 

Roy grabbed the phone and turned the brightness down, and then back up, and held it away from himself until his eyes would focus. He turned to Ed. “That’s an anus.”

“I know! I told you, I found my ex on Grindr! I can’t believe I fucked that!” Finally, Ed turned his phone away. Roy closed his eyes. Glowing afterimages of Brad’s asshole floated on the back of his eyelids. “I’m pretty sure he remembers me. He’s already resorted to threats. God, he had a dick like this. Roy look, like this!” 

Roy turned his face towards Ed, who was still sitting up against the headboard. “Like this! Roy you’re not looking.” The light went out as Ed poked him in the face trying to pry his eyelids open. Roy tried to bite him. God, Ed really was rubbing off on him. In more ways than one. 

“Why are you even on Grindr?” Roy gave up and faceplanted himself in Ed’s lap, groaning. Seal the entrances boys, we’re in lockdown.

“I can’t believe you know what Grindr is,” said Ed, meditatively digging his knuckle into the muscle in Roy’s shoulder that never really relaxed.

“I know lots of things.”

“You don’t know how big Brad’s dick was.”

“Plausible deniability. If I don’t know, then I don’t have to kill him.”

Ed snorted and started playing with his hair. “I don’t know. I didn’t put any real pictures on this, obviously, just stole some nudes from Al and cropped ‘em, but like, I’ve been fucking with him and he seems really mad.”

“Why are you even on there?” Ed was alternately tugging at the strands and massaging his scalp, which was kind of annoying, but also kind of amazing. “You should grow your fingernails out.”

“Oh my god, I should. Then I could paint them. Or maybe I could just get those like horrible fake claws, you know? Would you still love me if my nails were an inch past my fingertips like whatshername in the typing pool?”

“They all have nails like that.”

“How do they type?”

Roy made a sound that might have been “you’d have to ask them” if it had been exposed to three hundred years of acid rain.

“Yeah,” said Ed. “Anyway, I told you. You’re a dick. I’m gonna find a nice boyfriend who will do whatever I want.” 

Melting the TV wiring when he’d tried to put on the _Charlie’s Angels_ reboot had been a mercy blow, and they both knew it. Honestly though, how was Roy supposed to know TVs weren’t the sort of thing you repaired anymore, just replaced? Apparently it had been thirty years since that changed, but it had also been about thirty years since he’d watched TV with any regularity, at least until Ed got them Netflix. It was embarrassing. Maes kept asking them if they’d seen _How To Get Away With Murder_ yet. 

***

The last ten years had been good for Carole. Honestly, they’d been great. All the girls in the SWAT dispatch told her things had been wild for a while during the revolution, and Carole believed it because they’d been wild for her too, watching the news muted while she tried to get Deedee to stay down for a nap. 

But the last two years had been easy. She got full healthcare coverage. Her magic tricks were coming along better than she’d ever believed. Garvin and she were almost seeing eye to eye sexually. More important than the rest of it, Carole was done changing diapers forever, or at least until Deedee got knocked up at sixteen and had to squirt it out at home. No fucking way. She’d unbend the coathanger herself if it came to that. 

Carole had worked in dispatch for a full six months until she realized how much more the guys were making, and gone right around the bend to apply as an officer. She wasn’t gonna let her kids grow up into horrible toothless gremlins, hell no. 

It turned out, wrestling toddlers was great practice for making roided up SWAT guys to listen to you. All you had to do is threaten snacktime and everyone became a model citizen. And when that didn’t work, magic tricks made a great motivational tactic.

And now, three promotions later, she got to stand back and watch the same roided up guys use a pry bar to open the door of a pin-neat suburban two story. Must not have kids, it looked like they cut the grass with a ruler. 

Well, she hoped they didn’t have kids, what with a bomb threat in the house. 

Carole resisted the urge to check her phone. The photoshopped seahorse on the lock screen flashed--no notifications. Her kids were fine. It was four am. There was just something weird about the house. There weren’t any lights on, which seemed weird. Sometimes that meant the suspects knew that SWAT had been called. But more than that, she had a weird sense of deja vu. 

She followed the guys up to the door and slipped her gloved hand into the narrow letterbox beside it. This was technically super illegal, but honestly, no one was gonna care. It wasn’t like she was gonna steal their mail, just read the name. 

There were a couple magazines squashed in there and she pulled them out. The first one was Cosmo, which, given the Fox-viewership precision of the lawn, surprised her. It had been addressed to Corporal Richard Licker, and she suppressed a smirk. The next magazine was Seventeen, which was an alarming subscription for a house with a bomb threat. “There might be children in there, teen mags in the mailbox,” she said into her radio. 

There wasn’t a response. Carole sent through again, and didn’t get anything. The house was quiet above her.

She backed up off the porch, holding her fistful of mail and paging for backup when a third ping didn’t go through. She had kids, and didn’t have a micropenis. She was going to do this by the book, and not fucking die because she was too stupid to follow procedure that had been written for a reason. 

***

“Why does she have our mail! I think she has our mail!”

“That’s your question?” Roy had run out of furry handcuffs after the first three suffocating paramilitaries. They were wearing surprisingly good imitations of the Amestris SWAT team uniform, and if he finished tying this one up in the next seven seconds, he was pretty sure they wouldn’t have lost any more brain cells than they did every Friday Happy Hour at “Clits, Tits,and Writs,” Central’s best law enforcement themed titty bar. Roy knew. He’d caught Ed transmuting heavy metals into the well twice now.

“Can you fasten those?”

“Hm,” said Ed. “Were you even listening to me? She’s got our mail.” Ed raised his phone to his mouth, and Roy closed his eyes. Every time Ed used his mouth to hold his phone, the statistics for the density of e.Coli bacteria on phone screens flashed across Roy’s vision. Riza had printed them out for him and whispered “You kiss that mouth,” in his ear. Ed had flatly refused to care. “I rim you. How is putting my phone in my mouth worse. I put tons of shit in my mouth, you know that. I ate a piece of pizza I found on the ground last week.”

“I could have just straightjacketed them in the first place,” Ed said, spitting his phone back out. The paramilitary idiots now resembled a spider’s pantry, if said spider observed a strict diet of gimp suit store mannequins.

“That is what I asked you to do,” said Roy.

“Oh! I wasn’t listening.”

“So I gathered. And you’re the less lethal of us, if there were any others.”

“Yeah, sir, there’s one more. She’s going out to the van--want me to glue her feet to the ground?”

“Sir?” said Roy, which Ed must have taken as agreement because the phone went back in his mouth. It wasn’t _Ed’s_ fecal bacteria that was the issue, but he’d seen Ed using it in public bathrooms. Bacteria could travel up to ten feet after a toilet flush. The pamphlet had been very clear on that fact.

Outside there was a scream. “Whoops.”

“Absolutely not.” Roy was already sprinting down the stairs, Ed at his heels. They absolutely could not afford a legitimate complaint to the neighborhood board. Their entire plan hinged on convincing the rest of the cabinet that Sherilyn was hysterical and tyrannical for putting them on probation for keeping their grass exactly 40 millimeters over the approved length. Actual violations of policy were emphatically not a part of the Coup Whiteboard.

“Can’t you just suffocate her?”

“No safely, not from here,” said Roy, feet chilled by the sidewalk. Ed pulled ahead of him and tackled her before she managed to draw another breath. 

“Keep it down. Also, give me our mail. That’s a fucking federal crime!”

Roy drew up to them slowly, having recovered his dignity as much as possible, given that he was naked on a well-lit suburban sidewalk. He momentarily cursed having removed their hedges in favor of white picket, the better to taunt Sherilyn. Ed was right in calling it gauche, not that Roy would ever admit that. Maybe for their silver anniversary. 

“Ed,” he said, and jerked his head. Their hatchback covered enough of Roy for plausible deniability, and he mentally thanked Sherilyn’s current campaign against street parking, even though it meant he’d had to allow Ed to take over the garage with his furniture. Faking moving in together as an excuse meant they could accuse Sherilyn of bigotry if she protested, even though Ed had been forced to buy a vehicle to keep on the street. 

Ed dragged the struggling woman into the shadow of their Subaru, while Roy scanned the second story windows. 

“We clear?”

“We’ll just have to risk it,” Roy said, and they shuffled back to the shadow of the porch with the woman sagging between them. 

“They broke our door!”

“Can’t you fix it?” Roy closed all the curtains and still dragged the woman into the kitchen before he would risk turning on a light. Spend as long as he had in the field and you start to develop a sixth sense for surveillance: Roy would bet Ed’s Tiffany blue vespa that Kerrilyn was sitting at her window right now with the binoculars she kept beside her bed for easy access.

“It’s the principle of the thing,” came Ed’s voice from the sitting room. “I’m gonna put on some pants. I kinda teabagged her and it made me feel weird. Yeah, I’ll bring you some too.” Roy could hear him waving his hand as he spoke, and smiled. 

He kept the smile on his face, and looked down at...whatshername. 

Roy exfiltrated himself from the kitchen. 

He catches Ed halfway down the stairs. “Sweetheart! There’s a chance this is personal.”

“Sweetheart? Where do you know her from?”

Roy grimaced. 

“Oh my god,” said Ed, delighted. “How many times did you fuck her?”

“Twice.”

Ed cackled loud enough that a dog started barking outside. “Apparently I get to be good cop.”

“Give me the pants, you traitorous little heathen,” said Roy, grabbing them. Ed leaned against the wall, watching. He twiddled his phone in his automail hand and Roy had to physically restrain himself from reminding him that’s how his last three phones had died.

***

Roy walked back into the kitchen where… his ex had her phone out, playing Candy Crush by the sound effects. 

Ed ran into his back and from Roy's left armpit issued a sound like a water buffalo being introduced to the concept of a “surprise colonoscopy.”

“You were bound?”

“Just give me a second, I’m almost done with this level,” said definitely-not-Kerrilyn, holding up a hand.

Roy made a series of tactical calls and repeated his morning mantra, then entered the kitchen. Ed followed him, probably to mock the value of Roy’s mantra. How he always knew when Roy was repeating it remained a frustrating mystery.

“Okay, I’m done. Hi, Roy,” she said smugly, “good to see a whole lot of you again. Man, you sure had me scared for a second. “

Roy sat on the floor across from her, humming comfortably. Maybe if he acted like this was an interrogation, it would get the idea and start playing by a sane set of rules. “It’s been a while. May I ask what brings you out here tonight?”

Roy could hear Elric’s suppressed snort, and barely resisted the urge to smack him. 

“We got a bomb threat at this address. But then I realized it’s your house so it had to be fake because they mentioned seeing bomb parts and that's not you.” Sharon? Jumped up to sit on the counter, still as public relations-oriented and photogenic as she’d seemed last time Roy had seen her. 

The other shoe dropped with all the delicate subtlety of a four year old vaulting into dad’s lap in the middle of what might have become a little brother and now was about to be an eight thousand dollar ER bill for NSAIDS. 

Roy smiled because he really didn’t want to. “Still with SWAT?”

An extraordinary silence took control of the kitchen. “You mean those are real SWAT guys,” said Ed. 

Roy sat back against his cold, pointy leg. “You already called in backup didn’t you.”

“Those were real SWAT guys!” Ed sounded indecently delighted. “Wait.”

Roy tipped his head back. Ed’s eyes reflected the glow from his phone screen. “What is it?” Last year, Roy might have put effort into sounding less tired. 

“What?” asked Karrin, sounding inordinately cheery. “Is that your boyfriend? Where’s the golden retriever and adopted foreign kids?”

“Oh, shit.” Ed’s teeth appeared in a crescent moon as he grimaced. Their wetness reflected light. “Fuck, this is gonna ruin everything with Sherilyn, ooh my god.”

“What?” Roy asked, and in answer Ed dropped the iPhone XXL on his head. The screen cracked in two places and Roy resisted rubbing his head. Grindr (magnum subscription) was open, and a very clean puckered asshole was saying: “EAT SHIT ELRIC I’LL FUCKING GET YOU. JUST WAITN C!!!! UR FUCKIN ALCHEMY WON’T SAVE YOU NOW [water gun emoji] [water gun emoji] [water gun emoji]”

Roy turned off the screen. “Can you tell your backup this has been a fraudulent call?”

“No,” said Kellie? “They’re definitely already on the way. Wanna see a magic trick?”

“What if we promise to let you all go. Actually, go away, c’mon, leave.” Ed sighed and clapped. A series of thumps issued from upstairs. 

“I don’t know that there’s a way to salvage this, Elric.”

“Yeah, but this way they’ll leave our bedroom and we don’t have to deal with all this fucking crap while freezing our nipples off.”

“Fair point.” Roy turned to… her. Fuck it. “Kathy--”

“Carole! God, you’re still rude. How do you deal with him?” 

Ed hooted. “Ten inch cock makes up for all manner of sins.” 

Roy ignored him. What a brat. He was perfectly...average. 

“Our apologies. You of course understand why we interpreted the break-in as enemy action. It seems to have been a fraudulent call by a vindictive--How’d he know where we live?”

“Oh, I made him drop me off here once.”

Roy closed his eyes. “This would have been last year?” 

“Yeah, during the whole Sherrilyn thing. Look, Carole, why would we have bombs? It’s my shithead ex, Brad Escutcheon. I was bored and winding him up and apparently wound him a little far. But you can have your meatheads back, all limbs attached. We’ll cooperate with law enforcement through the inquiries, but I am going to put on some underwear now.”

“I know you don’t have bombs, duh. It’s fine, it’s just Goddard and the boys. They’ll head out once they look in your basement. We’re mostly stuck here until then. You guys have any food? I’m hungry. Wanna see a magic trick? I’m a magician now.”

“Of course,” said Roy. Previous experience with Carole had taught him that often the safest option was simply to smile and nod. 

He wondered who was on the other SWAT team, and just prayed it wasn’t Vlad. In the x-rated battle royale of Ed’s wildest exes, Vlad was a powerhouse comtender. Especially if you spent any face-to-face time with Ed those days. Riza had referred to them as “mnemonic hickies,” while Roy had simply expressed that perhaps such a violent field wasn’t quite the area for someone with that kind of fixation in his personal life. When Ed had said, “that’s rich, coming from you,” on the basis of _absolutely no evidence_ , it had basically kickstarted the entire Sherilyn plan then and there. No one who could intuit that kind of dirt about Roy was allowed to walk around without extensive counter-blackmail.

“Yup, but I’m a magician now. I’m almost making money at it, though the denial of my application for ‘Magic SWAT’ really put a crimp in my snout. What about you? Still a dog? Where’d your mustache go?”

“I—eliminated it.” Roy could feel Ed crowding him so asked Ed’s question, rather than allowing them to properly meet. So what, he had a type. Most people had a type. “How—I seem to remember you bound?” There was a bit of asphalt rubble littering their New Goat Milk #23 tile.

“Oh, I told you, magician.” Candie—no, it couldn’t be. That was one of his sisters’ names and he would have remembered. “I’m actually pretty great these days.”

“Really?” asked Roy, in an absence of other things to say. 

“Yeah, look!” said She-Who-Would-Not-Be-Named, rolling her tongue and muttering something that might have been abra-cadabra. Things clicked for Roy just fast enough that he was able to drop back from the spot of their New Goat Milk #23 tile that suddenly resembled Old Buck #243, wobbly as it melted. 

Ed made a choking sound, because unlike Roy, he had never had to deal with himself before. At least Kristin wasn’t twelve, and haunted by a seven foot suit of armor. 

“That’s a pretty great magic trick,” Roy paused and mentally disemboweled all the patronization from his tone. “How did you learn it?”

“Oh, lots of practice.”

“Really?” said Roy, finally placing the reason he’d broken up with her. “Rabid but still fuckable” was a fine, fine line that Elric double-dutched daily. 

“Eddie here can do that too.” _That_ was for making fun of his penis to someone who knew better. 

“Yeah, I saw! That was super cool. Did you have to kill a ferret too?” said Carole but Roy had already tuned her out, listening to the sound of an engine outside.

Roy closed his eyes and opened them to find Ed, still stunned into silence for perhaps the first time in his short life. 

“Would you give us a moment, Carole?”

Roy pulled Ed by the shoulder into a strategic retreat to the hallway. 

Ed made a noise like a jello fleshlight trying to beg for death.

“Yeah, I know. But she’s not here as an—” Roy stared at the My Little Pony phone charm, one of set to keep him from switching up work phone and personal. It wasn’t his fault they didn’t make phone charms for professional government employees these days. It had been on the phone earlier but he'd been too focused on the threatening anus to pay attention. 

Roy closed his eyes and opened them but the little purple pony was still there. “Is that my phone?”

An obscure, guilty expression crossed Ed’s face. “Yeah, I cracked the other one again.”

“That’s my work phone.”

Ed held it up so that the horse dangled between his nose and Roy’s nipples. “No, it’s the toy phone. 7382, I checked. It’s where I send all my dick pics.”

“7382 is the work number.” Roy looked at the ceiling. Great staple remover in the sky, they were going to lose to Sherrilyn. 

“Amestris owns my dick pics.”

“Amestris owns worse than that,” said Roy. What Ed sent to what he thought was Roy’s work phone was an entire other question. “In this case, it owns _Brad’s_ dick pics.”

And Ed had been using the paid tier of Grindr (Roy’s not dead, and he’s only been monogamous for a year. Don't look like that, Maes), and the damned company phone had autosaved his government card. 

The sheer weight of the subpoenas that were at this point no more than a glitter in his political rivals' eyes, but soon would be barreling down at him like fifty tormented greyhounds chasing a wiggly fake rabbit made Roy actually put a hand out to the wall for balance. it had been peacetime, and while he hadn't exactly slackened protocol, the entire OPERATION ~~ROMANCE ED ELRIC TAKE TWO~~ WASP TRAP certainly hadn't been conceived with an eventual deposition in mind. Ed met his eyes, phone shattering in his grip. 

"Burn the evidence." 

"Too late now," Roy stared at the Mild Oatmeal (#12) deep pile carpet. Was this what a heart attack felt like? "It's all stored in the cloud. They clone a record each midnight." By mutual agreement, they both slid down opposite sides of the hall. 

"You can turn this to your advantage. Your enemies won't know what hit them." Roy shook his head wordlessly. That would be the easy part. “Fifteen months of work out the window with OPERATION WASP TRAP.”

Ed moaned like a new widow. 

From the kitchen came the sound of a cabinet crashing open. “Oh my gosh, you guys, your cereal tastes like fish flakes! What even do they put in Mako Munch™?”

"It's very high protein," Roy said automatically. Today was gonna be fun.


End file.
